


I'm Only Sleeping Part II

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Gen, hope you enjoy :3, oh my god yes, this is getting to the good stuff now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 14:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10220258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oh yes!A bit of recap at the start but seriously this is gonna get good in the next chapter!





	

‘I don’t even know how to play that old thing, yet alone guitar.’ I sighed.  
‘Don’t they teach you that at school?’ John asked.  
‘How would you know that?’ I said, with one raised eyebrow.   
‘None of your business.’ he replied.   
‘Yeah they did, but it would have helped so much if firstly, I had been using a left-handed guitar and secondly, the teacher wasn’t a self-obsessed prick who taught us how to read tab and fuck else. Actually, she taught us fuck else in the class.’ I said.   
‘That would suck.’ John replied.  
‘Yeah, it did.’ I sighed.   
‘Alright then. Put your fingers like this.’ George said, and I copied like I was his reflection. ‘Now strum like this.’ He continued, a gentle note forming. I strummed with the tortoiseshell pick I found with the mandolin, and played. I kept on playing that chord over and over again.   
‘Nice work. Now try this…’ George continued showing me chords, up to the fourth. Then he began playing ‘Here Comes the Sun’ and I felt a slight snap inside.  
-  
It was a memory all washed in white, in the well-lit wooden room with the shelves of cassettes and vinyl; the appropriate equipment to play them. The light bounced up from the golden armchairs, small shadows in the buttons. I was on the footrest of the same patterned fabric as the chairs, with my bare feet dancing along to the music and my untrained voice doing its best to sing along to the beautiful melody. But rather than my father being there, his grey hair and beard, it was a man with longish brown hair, his face blurred by the light. He was wearing a white suit and a red shirt, a trio of daisies in his lapel. He pulled one out and gave it to me, and I held onto it with my short fingers.   
-  
Was that even real? I remember everything happening, but it was my dad there, right? My dad was the one who put on the music that day, wasn’t he? I faded into uncertainty from that. Perhaps it was a dream, or I was misremembering things. I let myself fall back into focus, grinning from the song. I had to clap at the end, and George made a small bow. He began to play my favourite song, a beautiful song, ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’. I did not know the chords; I did know the words.   
‘I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping;  
While my guitar gently weeps.  
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping;  
Still my guitar gently weeps.  
I don’t know why nobody told you how to unfold your love.  
I don’t know how someone controlled you…’  
I was very quietly, almost silently singing along. It was easy to get lost in the song that ended too soon.   
‘Oh wow…’ I muttered quietly, louder than I had been singing. ‘Wow…’  
‘Thanks, Hazel.’ George said. I yawned widely, covering it with my hand.   
‘You should go to bed.’ John said, nodding at the clock.  
‘I will then, Dad.’ I joked, with George giving a little snigger.   
‘Fuck you.’ he laughed.   
‘You’re still a swine, y’know.’ I said before disappearing from the doorway. I was immediately exhausted as I entered my room, and after changing I collapsed onto the bed, with a black sleep undisturbed by anything. I didn’t dream any dreams; huh, two nights in a row? I blearily opened my eyes to my room, and by the noises on the roof it was raining a bit heavier than the day before. I was too tired to exist, so I slept some more. A headache encroached slowly, with a sickening feeling too. It was one of those times where I’d been knocked out by the pills and woke up like the pills had been a sledgehammer to the back of my head.  
-  
‘Leave her alone! Don’t touch her, don’t you dare touch her!’ the screams of the lady came.  
‘But why?!’ another voice came, this time male.  
‘She’s not yours, you can’t touch her!’ the first voice sounded frantic.  
‘But what if she is? What if she is mine?’ the man disagreed.  
‘She can’t be! She… just not yours! Get away!’ the woman said, and I felt a dragging in my arm and from underneath me, then a swift updraft and I must have been floating or being carried away by someone. I writhed, and kicked, struggling against the hands against my arms.   
-  
‘Wake up! Wake up, Hazel, c’mon, just wake up now!’ George was shaking me. He had a panicked look in his eyes.   
‘Wha- whazzapen’d?’ I mumbled, blearily waking up early from the slumbers of the drugs.  
‘No time to explain yet. Just get dressed, and grab a change of clothes, maybe a book or two. Just do it.’ George said, leaving me none-the-wiser about the situation that came for that voice. That was the kind of voice that adults used upon little kids when something bad happened, and they didn’t want or need another trouble of a crying kid on their hands. I got up, pulled on the jeans and t-shirt I’d wear anyway but on top of it I pulled on the cotton jumper I loved, and the hoodie I always wore. Quickly brushing my hair to a frizzy bush and tying my laces, inside a bag I threw a change of clothes and three books, just as George told me to do. The house was quite dark, so my mind jumped to that it was early in the morning. But upon checking my watch, it was a quarter past eight in the morning. I’d woken up way earlier; no wonder I wanted to keep sleeping. I did up the bag, and I checked for any other things I may need over a day or so. I noticed the scarf that Lucy had made me, and I wrapped it up and shoved it in my bag. I saw that George or John had placed the guitar in its case, not shutting it properly, and thus I picked up my beautiful blackened guitar. John had bed hair, and yawned s I walked near him, though his tired eyes showed panic too.  
~To Be Continued~


End file.
